the world is too heavy
by long time brother
Summary: sherlock / molly: "I don't count," she says and smiles. Oh, but you do, he wants to scream. / Remember when Molly Hooper was so sure she counted for nothing in Sherlock Holmes' life?


**A/N: **I'm iffy on this one.

**the world is too heavy**

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_'Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring—all of which have the potential to turn a life around.'_

**Leo Buscaglia**

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"You look sad. When you think they can't see you."

"You can see me," he says.

"I don't count," she says and smiles.

He tilts his head and watches her, confused. Is that really—how does she—no, she cannot think that for she does count, she does, she _does_.

And then his mind screams for memories, memories that roar into him, raging and ranting because what is he, if not a monster like they believe? What is he, if not a man like she believes?

Why is he so cruel to her?

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"Your lipstick is too bright," he tells her and her smile falls.

"Your shirt is strange," he comments and she blinks.

"You don't look too good," he brushes past her and—no, why does he have to say this, why does he have to do this?

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

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Her smile is like sunshine.

Now where did that come from? He scrambles into his mind—what is wrong with him—

She smiles a lot but nowadays he's ripped into her so much, it's a half-smile at best, really. She smiles brightly, eyes filled with unshed tears, ears filled with the insults he's hurled at her—

Perhaps he really is a monster, after all.

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

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There's room in his life, always room in his life; hardly anyone comes around. He has friends, he supposes, his housekeeper, his friend—but what about her—who is she to him?

She's always been around and yet he's never really noticed—

Her smile is like sunshine.

"Your lipstick is too bright," he tells her and her smile falls.

His voice is callous and cruel and unforgiving and her face is crumpled and again he feels that stab in his heart—why did he have to say that? Then she turns away and all is alright again—

He's never really noticed, has he?

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

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He won't let it go, he knows that—it's who he is—something that plagues at him so intensely won't let him go so he'll—

Her face is soft and sweet and she gazes up at him somewhat gently and he's never really felt gentle before—he's seen deceiving kindness, sharp wits, vivid seduction and he's never really felt gentle before but that is _her_ all over, isn't it?

—Her smile is like sunshine and she is gentle all over.

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

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And why is she smiling?

Why is she smiling, he roars silently, because that is horrible, that is cruel to feel unwanted like that, to feel like you don't count—

"Your shirt is strange," he comments and she blinks.

Her eyes are filled with unshed tears and she pats down at her shirt self-consciously as he watches, one eyebrow raised. He's all brains and cleverness and far more superior than her, isn't he?

—and _oh_.

He is the one who makes it feel like she doesn't count—he may be all brains and cleverness but he's not superior, not at all, no—

Because he's not kind like her and he's not gentle like her.

Her smile is like sunshine and she is gentle all over.

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

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Oh, but you do, he wants to scream because she does, she does—

"You don't look too good," he brushes past her.

And the venom he feels for himself is beyond imaginable; perhaps he really is a monster for a real man would not say these things, would not watch unfeelingly as she crumbles right before him—

Her face crumples and he's too weak, too cowardly, to continue watching so he turns away—

You do count, he whispers.

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"I don't count," she says and smiles.

"You do," he refuses.

She's still smiling. She'll humour him.

"You're the one person everyone thinks doesn't matter at all," he says—watches her smile fall, her face become more serious— and continues, "but you do. You've always counted."

It rings in the air between them and for the first time, she smiles at him properly, really. He lets it wash over him gratefully because her smile is like sunshine—she is gentle all over—and he wants nothing more than her.

He just wants her.

And that's okay.

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**fin**


End file.
